Per Taylor's orders, all pilots are undergoing some forced simulator time, but three pilots in particular have a lot more of it scheduled than anybody else.

Date:

2659.108

Related Logs:

A Simulated CF

Participants:

Phillip James Walsh

Colonel Taylor in his infinite wisdom had decided the results of the last simulator battle meant that the other pilots involved needed more escort practice so James, Phillip, and Walsh had all been woken up bright and early by the buzzing of their commlinks. After answering each was told to report to the sim room by 08:00. This had left James with just enough time to get into uniform and grab a mug of coffee from the mess which he sips while awaiting the other pilots.

Phillip walks into the simulator room awake but not exactly chirper or refreshed. He nods towards James, "So what fun is planned for this little outing…or I guess I should say in-ing. Major strike or something a little less nasty?"

Walsh trudges in, woodenly, still looking half asleep. "Yeah, so I'm guessing this isn't exactly a reward, after last time…"

James says with a yawn "The time of day it's set for should be enough to confirm that. He swallows the last of his coffee and turns towards the officer manning the sim control station who has just cleared his throat. "Today gentleman you will be escorting a Sabre on a strike against a Kilrathi convoy. Lieutenant Williams will be in pod one, Lieutenant Walsh in pod two, and Lieutenant Bradford in pod three. Once you are in your pods gentleman we can begin. James sets his coffee mug aside before climbing into his assigned pod.

Phillip looks over to Walsh, "Forced sim time is never a reward." Phillip looks back toward the sim officer and nods before heading over to pod 3.

Walsh nods at his assignment. "Well, let's see how spectacularly we fail this one." Walsh says with a yawn, before lumbering over to his pod.

Once everyone is in their pods they kick on showing a starscape with two Stilettos and a Rapier around a Sabre. Their nav systems are programmed with a nav point believed to be the best interception point for the convoy. James cuts in his commline «We aren't failing this time. Iceblade you're on point, Ozone below and port. I'll take above and starboard.» as he guides his craft into position he watches the blips of the other fighters carefully then sets off for the nav point once they are in position.

Phillip hops in the pod, gets ready quickly, and is flung into the zone of virtual space. «Copy that Lead. Taking point.» Iceblade radios as he's pulls his fighter toward the head of the small formation.

Walsh slumps into the pod's seat and shakes himself to full attention. Taking the controls, he maneuvers into formation behind Phillip's Rapier.

After confirming the formation and checking with the Sabre's pilot James opens his comm again «Ok flight this is Cutlass standby to switch to autopilot in 5..4..3..2..1..and 0.» James hits the autopilot button and immediately switches his gaze to his scanners.

Phillip sets his Rapier to autopilot and keeps his eyes scanning both out the window and at his simulated radar.

The flight continues peacefully until they near the nav point when a number of enemy blips appear on the scanner screen. After cycling through them James utters a curse the opens his comm «I'm on the lead Dralthi, Ozone on two, Iceblade on three, and Iceblade save your dumbfires in case we need them for the transports.» Then the Sabre pilot cuts in announcing his attention to make a run on the corvette, and James brings his fighter towards his target before opening fire.

Iceblade spots the enemy group. «Cutlass, Iceblade. Order Acknowledged.» Phillip radios definitely wanting to be sure he follows orders to the tea this time. Phillip begins burning towards the third Dralthi. "Switching to imrecs to hopefully turn this guy to shrapnel," Phillip says under his breath as he prepares imrecs. Beep…beep…beep beep….beep beep beep…PING! «Iceblade, Fox 2»

Walsh's attention is starting to wander as Cutlass's comm comes through. He pulls himself upright and tries to look as alert as possible before responding. «Copy that Cutlass. On Two» He cycles his targets and vectors toward his assigned foe, though flying much more conservatively than he is usually known for.

Within moments the two forces are engaging each other with bursts of flak adding to the chaos of the battlefield. Both James and Phillip take hits with Phillip's being the worst while the Sabre's torpedo flies harmlessly past the corvette. James curses and switches to missiles before diving onto the tail of the fighter now targeting Walsh. «Cutlass Fox2!» he announces after settling his missile sight over the target's engines.

Just as Phillip was firing, flak from the first Dorkir flies right into face. Phillip immediately maneuvers to avoid more painful shrapnel. "Heh, speaking of Shrapnel, Jeez." Unfortunately the missile got blasted in all of that flak. "Alright, this is not going too well," Iceblade says as he continues evading with mass driver rounds flying by, "but at least I got Dralthi 3's attention." Phillip cues up an Friend or Foe, and loops around at the Dralthi letting the missile fly.

Walsh lets fly his mass drivers into the path of his assigned Dralthi just before he overshoots. As he swings around behind it, he takes a peak at his target analysis and grins at the damage readout. With A solid tail established, he switches to heat seekers. «Ozone, Fox Two»

One of the Dralthi's comes apart under Walsh's missile. Unfortunately all of the confederation pilots take hits from flak clouds in the exchange and the Sabre is clearly badly hurt. James mutters a curse and cuts in the comm «Iceblade switch to dumbfires and hit one of those transports ASAP. Ozone and I will deal with the Dralthis.» Indeed the two remaining Dralthis are coming around to target the confederation birds and James pulls a loop to line up another missile shot.

The simulator pod that Phillip is in imitates the jostle of several armor blunted hits, one definitely from the Dralthi while the other was from the Corvette's flak ring. Overall nothing actually damaged at least. "Damn this is not going too well," Phillip says as burns forward avoiding several more rounds of flak. From the target display, his missile definitely proved ineffective if it even hit, which is no doubt in the negative. «Lead, I will try my best. Going for 'sports now.» Phillip radios as he loops about heading toward the nearest transport while cuing up his dumbfires. He lines up on the ship but tries to juke and jink a little to avoid be totally creamed by the flak.

Walsh has no doubts that his missile hit its target, owing to the large fireball depicted on his display. Unfortunately, he also can't doubt the fact that his wing has just been abused by a cloud of flak. The pod tries its best to give authentic feedback to the event, doing its part to keep Walsh awake. «Righto, Cutlass. Afirm on the order for more kitty litter.» He circles around, trying to avoid the worst of the flak this time, and lines up another missile.

For a brief moment things seem to be turning around for the Confederation pilots as one of the transports blows apart. Then a fresh storm of flak bursts tear through their ranks blowing apart the Sabre and punching deep into Phillip's fighter. James takes the time to curse even while maneuvering for another missile shot, "What did they do stick the best gunners in the cat fleet on these transports?" He then cuts in the comm «Good shooting Iceblade now see if you can nail the second transport. At least we can force a draw here still.»

Phillip's dumbfire races into the Lead Transport ripping it to shreds; however, Phillip doesn't have time to pay much attention to his handy work as the nearby Corvette shrapnels the sim-Rapier chassis even more. Luckily, none of the hits were too serious, but the Rapier is definitely severely damaged. «Roger that Lead.» Phillip lines up at the other transport, racing full out at the ship in an attempt to make his last dumbfire count ignoring everything around him. It's not like the simulated Rapier costs more than a cents in energy.

One transport down so far. A lot of pain for not much gain. And Walsh's pet Dralthi seems to have shrugged off the worst of his missile. As pleased as he is to be in here (yeah, right), this is turning out to be another mess. Walsh grits his teeth, slams on the afterburner, and aims his craft straight up the enemies exhaust plume. «Digital kitty go back to its bit bucket now, thanks? Cheers. Fox Two»

Unfortunately with the failure of the second dumbfire attack all realistic hope of the confederation flight killing the second transport dies. James cuts into the comm doing his best to keep the frustration he feels from his tone which gets harder as his own weapon damages but fails to kill its target «Everyone after the last Dralthi and once it's dead we'll break for home.» he orders before moving to engage the enemy fighter and switching to guns.

As much as Phillip tried, the transport's flak just destroyed his dumbfire before it could hit. As Phillip turned his Rapier around some flak impacted right on his right wing taking off even more armor from the damaged bird. «This is Iceblade, no bingo on Transport. Request attempt with an imrec.» Phillip radios as he pulls away from the Dorkir trying to evade any more pain.

«Good riddance.» Walsh says as the second Dralthi finally takes the high-explosive hint that his presence is not welcome. He cycles targets to the remaining Dralthi. «That just leaves you, Mr. Pixel Putty-tat, and your flak-happy friend.» Having just run dry on missiles, he commences his typical charge-and-gun tactic.

The flak storms again tear across the battlefield, and while the Dralthi takes multiple hits it keeps flying, while inside James's sim pod the alarms are going mad. «Ozone try to keep this guy off Iceblade and I while I run repairs. Iceblade you get one pass so make it count.» he says before breaking into an evasive spiral.

Phillip's severely damaged, almost destroyed, practically useless, and totally worthless (being just bytes in a computer) Rapier loses yet more right wing armor despite the heavy evading. «Roger that Cutlass, it's not like I have the missiles for more passes anyway» Phillip radios as he burns around toward the transport's rear, locks on the imrec, closes his finger toward the trigger.

The Dralthi keeps on living, and the flak keeps on tearing strips off fighters, causing Walsh to shout "Yeah, well fuck you too!" out of general frustration, probably loud enough to be heard outside his pod. He yanks on the stick, pulling a recklessly tight turn, and charges at the fake Kilrathi again. Care factor? Somewhat low at this point.

With two of the three confederation fighters vanishing into balls of flame the sim operator cuts the run. James sits in his pod for a while afterwards muttering curses and trying to figure out just where things had gone wrong.

Phillip's missile is fired, but milliseconds later, his position is overwhelmed by flak even more wiping out the damaged Rapier and its missile. With the ship going critical, Phillip pulls the dummy eject cord in the simpod. Immediately thereafter, the simulation ends. "Damn that sucked," Phillip says softly. He slowly gets out the simpod and starts running through the events in his head, trying to think of what errors were made if any on his part. "God awful flak," Phillip mumbles.

Yeah. That went well… Two confed fighters buying it, and the Dralthi's -still- going strong. The screens go blank, and the pod powers down. "What. The. Fuck!?" Walsh all but screams out as he removes himself from the pod. "That was -the- goddamnest clusterfuck of shit-arse flak…" Not amused, apparently.